Trained By The Boss: M/M BDSM Straight To Gay First Time Romance

by Charlotte Storm

  I shudder thinking about or worse, and slowly flick my tongue out into the pool of my now cold seed. It’s disgusting. I gag a few times, but with Griffin’s hand wrapped around the back of my neck, his grip insistent and unyielding, I know I don’t really have a choice. Not if this is the game I want to play with him.

  And fuck, I’ve never wanted to play anything this much in my life.

  I don’t know how long it takes me to clean my mess. All I know is that, eventually, I get every last drop. By the time I do, my dick is hard again.

  Mr. Hart wraps his hand around my erection. “Want to get off again?” he asks, but I know better than to say yes or I’ll be cleaning it up a second time. Eating my own cum once in a night is all I can take.

  “No, sir. I’m good.”

  He laughs, swipes his thumb along my lower lip where some of my release still lingers. “That you are, Aiden.”

  I’m surprised when he pulls me in for a kiss. I know he can taste my cum in my mouth, but that doesn’t seem to stop him.

  The kiss is over as quick as it starts. Griffin pushes to his feet, the bulge in his sleep pants level with my face. I swallow thickly, not sure where this could go. If he’ll shove his cock into my mouth and make me eat his cum next.

  A thrill rockets down my spine, engorging me more. I’m spent, tired, and sore from being tense for so long. But if he wants me to get him off, I would. I’d eat his cock and drink him down if he demanded it of me.

  It couldn’t be worse than licking my own spent release off the floor.

  “D-Do you...” I lick my lips, my eyes locked on his crotch. “Uh, do you want to get off, sir?”

  “I do, and I will.” He palms his dick, the fabric of his pants outlining his large size. “You think you’re ready to go from straight to sucking me off?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’m willing to try. Sir.”

  He stares at me for a long time. Too long. Just when I think he’ll tell me no, deny me this opportunity to pleasure him in a way my body seems to want to, he steps closer so he’s within reach.

  “Okay, Aiden. Let’s see what you trying looks like.”

  Sitting up on my knees, I tuck my fingertips into the band of his pants and pull them down over his bulge, his corded thighs, and finally to his bare feet. When his dick springs free, it hits me in the face.

  There’s something perversely satisfying about being whipped by him, even if by accident. I’m his sub. I belong to him. That action, along with so many others, proves it.

  Bringing one hand to his sac, I cup his balls, roll them around on my palm. They’re warm and so soft, unlike the man they belong to. With my other hand, I wrap around his base, angle his cock toward my mouth.

  He moans, his head tilting back, when I flick my tongue out to taste him. I expect to hate the salt and tang of his precum, to be grossed out at the fact I’m about to give my first ever blowjob to another man.

  Neither of those things happen. The instant his flavor coats my tongue, I want more. I want him deeper. Putting more pressure on his sac, I slide my lips down and around his shaft until his head hits the back of my throat.

  His toes grip the floor. His hand wraps in my hair, barely long enough to grab hold of. He curses, says my name, then grunts.

  It feels better than amazing to know it’s my mouth giving him this much pleasure. I set a pace that I would like, use my hand around his shaft to twist and pump. He makes a few corrections, teaching me exactly what he likes.

  I pay attention to every aspect of his body. The way his muscles bunch and move in both his legs, abs, and shoulders. The sounds he makes when I run my tongue along the slit in his head. The way his cock engorges, telling me he’s close before his words do.

  “I’m going to cum, Aiden. You’re going to swallow me.”

  I nod, use my tongue to create more pressure, and cup his balls more forcefully. Nothing like how he did to me, but enough to heighten the sensation of everything else.

  With his hand on the back of my head, Griffin shoves deep, his tip hitting the back of my throat. I ready myself both mentally and physically to drink him down. Sucking cock is as much a head game as it is anything.

  He curses, louder this time, says my name, and unloads.

  The first squirt hits the back of my throat hot and fast. It’s reflex to swallow, to take what he’s giving and want more. After the next two squirts, I time his release with my hand so I’m stroking the part of his shaft not in my mouth.

  I don’t dare stop sucking, dare stop stroking, until his dick quits jerking and his release no longer hits my tongue—his flavor bursting across it in the kind of addictive taste that would make me happy on my knees every day from now on.

  When Griffin catches his breath, he slides out of me, still hard but slowly coming down. “That was...impressive,” he says, hand still in my hair, glossed expression in his eyes. “You sure that was your first time giving head?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Releasing me, he grabs his pajama pants from around his feet and pulls them up, then helps me stand.

  “How was it?” he asks when I’m to my feet, still completely naked and now hard as a fucking rock.

  “It was...” How was it? “Um, it was scary at first, because I didn’t know what to expect, didn’t want to disappoint you. But once I tasted you, felt you in my mouth, I wanted more. I wanted to please you.”

  Griffin’s gorgeous lips split into the kind of grin that sets my blood boiling. “You pleased me, Aiden.” He juts his chin toward the bathroom attached to his office. “Now, go take a shower, and take care of that.” His gaze flicks to my hard cock.

  I want to beg him to take care of me again, even if it means eating more cum. But he gave me an order, and I’ve pushed boundaries enough for one night.

  The heated spray of his shower feels amazing on my flesh, made sensitive by everything that happened, by the impending second release of the night. I take my time, touch myself, wash myself, touch myself again. I tease, prolong, determined to be able to last longer next time.

  When I do finally go off the second time, it’s to thoughts of Mr. Hart. Of his cock in my mouth, of what I imagine it’ll feel like in other places.

  Shutting off the water, I step out and find he’s left me a towel and a change of clothes. Geo’s clothes. I hesitate before putting them on, not sure how I feel about wearing the clothes of my friend, and the adult child of the man I’m...what? What are we exactly?

  We haven’t fucked yet, so we aren’t lovers. I’m his employee, yet so much more than that. I belong to him. I’m his. Maybe that’s all the label I need.

  When I finally exit the bathroom, Mr. Hart is at his computer. “Hope the clothes fit,” he says. “I know Geo’s thinner than you, but it was the best I could do short notice.”

  “No worries,” I say, wishing he’d given me something of his to wear instead.

  “It’s okay to admit it’s a bit weird,” he says, still typing away on his computer, not looking at me. “After what we just did, me putting you in my son’s clothes probably feels awkward.”

  He spares me a glance, grins, then goes back to what he was doing.

  “Why, uh, why did you give me Geo’s clothes instead of something of yours?” I get the nerve to ask, and fuck. Do I sound like a whiny bitch? A clingy girlfriend wanting the guy’s oversized shirt to wear to bed? So I can surround myself in his scent?

  He stops typing, but his eyes stay fixed on the screen. “I can give you something of mine if you wish, if you think you could explain to your family why you’re wearing your boss’s lounge wear.”

  Uh, no. I couldn’t. Nor would I want to. “Good point, sir.”

  I gather up the pile of dirty, sweaty clothes I placed by the door and grab my phone and keys from the side table. My thumb accidentally hits the screen, lighting it up. I have fourteen text messages and six missed calls.

  I worry something’s wrong. That someone got hurt, or worse. Pressing on the icon for my
messages, I read the first few. They’re from my father, and I was right. Something is wrong. Someone’s about to get hurt.

  That someone is me. That something was dinner with Lily and her family.

  “Shit!” I check the time on my phone. Sure enough, it’s almost nine. “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Hart. Sir. I, uh, have to go.” I put my hand on the doorknob, but stop. “I mean, am I excused?”

  He looks up from his computer, his eyebrow cocked in a way that says he’s concerned. “Everything okay?”

  No. It isn’t. But I don’t want to have to explain to him that I missed an arranged dinner date with my future wife and her parents.

  “Yeah. I just...uh, my parents asked me to come home for dinner, and I forgot. My dad gets pissed when he doesn’t get his way, and my mom hates to be disrespected.”

  Understatement of the goddamn century.

  Taking his time, Mr. Hart pushes away from his desk and stands. My nerves kick into overdrive, everything inside me screaming to get home, to try and make this right. But how?

  What am I supposed to tell my father? That I’m late because I was too busy giving head to my boss? That he denied me an orgasm so thoroughly I was willing to lick my own cum off the floor? That I don’t want the life they have planned? That I like men?

  It’s that last thought, more than anything, that ices my veins. I could never tell him that. Tell him I’d rather be with Griffin. My new boss, and college buddy’s dad.

  “I’m sure your parents will understand,” Griffin says, his voice calm, like the rest of him. Me? I feel like a caged animal. Trapped, the way I always am when I think about my family’s expectations for me. “Just tell them you were working late.”

  “I-I will. We were.” I grip the doorknob tighter. Mr. Hart’s eyes flick to my hand, then back to my face. “It’s just, you don’t know my father. Making him angry is never a good thing.”

  An unreadable expression flickers across Griffin’s handsome face. “Then don’t keep him waiting, Aiden.”

  “I won’t,” I say, flinging open the door harder than I intend. “Thank you, uh, sir. See you later?”

  Griffin’s lips pull into the slightest frown. “See you Monday, Mr. Montgomery. Have a good night.”

  Chapter 6

  The drive back to my house takes ten minutes less than it should. Only by some miracle do I not get pulled over, or get into an accident.

  Gathering the dirty clothes from my car, I sprint to my front door. I’m about to put the key into the lock when it opens.

  My father’s shape looms in the doorway, denying me entrance. I open my mouth to explain, to lie about getting caught up at work, when my father’s hand wraps around my throat, cutting off my words and air.

  He slams me against the side of the house. The clothes I was carrying fall to the porch. My hands instinctively go to his wrist. His forearm.

  It’s the second time tonight I’ve been manhandled like this, and only once have I wanted it.

  “Do you think your future is a goddamn joke?” Spit flies from my father’s lips, lands on my cheeks. “Do you think your mother and I haven’t worked our asses off, sacrificed everything, for you? To give you a life? An education? A future family?”

  I tap against his arm with my palm, my way of begging him to let me breathe. When I think I might pass out, he lets go. I fall to the ground, choke and cough, almost vomit. My throat burns. My eyes water. I want to roll into a ball, hide from him. Be a coward like I always have.

  There’s something about the way my father puts his hands on me that’s always made me afraid of him. But when Griffin does it, I crave more. Want it. Fuck, I like it.

  So, what’s the difference? Why do I want it rough from Griffin, but hate it every time my father violates my trust with his spoil the rod bullshit?

  Trust. That’s the difference.

  I trust Mr. Hart to have my best interests in mind at all times. Like he said, he has all the control. I have all the power. There’s balance in what we have that’s missing with my father. He has all the control and power, and he hates sharing. Hates when I tell him no, that I might have ideas and desires of my own that don’t align with his.

  The scuffling of feet draw my attention to the doorway. My mom’s there, apron still wet from doing the dishes, look of disappointment planted firmly on her face. Sometimes I think her features are stuck in that mode, I so rarely see her smile.

  “You’ve disgraced me, Aiden,” my father says. “Embarrassed your mother. Disappointed Lily and her family.”

  “You could’ve at least called. I had to make up excuses as to why you weren’t here.” My mother joins in the verbal lashing. “You know how much I hate to lie.”

  “I know how much you both hate to look bad,” I mutter, not quietly enough.

  “What did you say, boy?” My father cocks back a fist.

  “Not here.” My mother puts her hand on his arm, gently pulls him away. I’m under zero delusions it’s because she’s trying to help me. No, it’s that the neighbors could be watching, and if there’s anything my parents care about, it’s what other people think of them.

  That’s why it’s such a cardinal sin to make them look bad by not showing up for dinner. By not following their strict letter of the law in every aspect of my life.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, ready to be done with this, even if it means giving in to their demands. “I’ll apologize to Lily tomorrow. We can arrange another dinner, and this time I’ll help you cook, Mom. Okay?”

  My mom flicks her disapproving gaze to me, nods once, and heads into the house. My father isn’t so easy to win over.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” my father asks as I pick up my clothes off the ground. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

  He pinches the fabric of Geo’s t-shirt between his fingers. Thankfully, the pile of clothes in my arms covers the giant white skull with the band name Danzig emblazoned on it.

  “I told you, I was working. My boss and I went for a run. I didn’t have anything to change into, so his son let me borrow some clothes.”

  “His son?” My father shakes his head. “You mean the faggot you went to college with?”

  I wince at the word. “I don’t see what him being gay has to do with anything. I was working late. He let me borrow some clothes.”

  My father studies my face, and I swear he knows about everything I’ve done with Mr. Hart. Can see it in the guilty lines of my expression. Read it in the depths of my eyes. Smell it on my skin.

  “I don’t like you being around that lifestyle. I mean, what kind of a man raises his son to be gay? He can’t be that fucking smart if he can’t keep his family in line.”

  “He isn’t smart,” I say, ready to defend Griffin from my dad’s judgmental bullshit. “He’s a genius, Dad. CEO of a Fortune 500 company he built from the ground up.” Unlike you, I want to add, but know better.

  My father grunts, scrubs his hand over his face. “Well, I’m going to have a talk with your boss. He needs to understand that family comes first, that he can’t just keep you at all hours. You have obligations.”

  Fear freezes the breath in my lungs. “N-No. You can’t do that.”

  “I can, and I goddamn will,” he spits back at me and grabs my arm, shoving me inside the house.

  I trip over the threshold, but right myself. He bullies his way inside after me, slams the front door. A small part of me can at least be satisfied that my mom won’t be happy with him for making too much noise, drawing attention by being loud.

  “I’m not a child. I’m an adult,” I say, the words hard to get out, the look on my father’s face enough to choke me a second time.

  “If you’re an adult, then fucking act like one. Act like you care about this family, about what your mother and I have sacrificed so you can have a better future.”

  A wave of something like bravery and backbone washes through me, a bit of newfound respect for myself. A gift from Mr. hart.

  “Whose i
dea of a better future?” I say, voice shaking with equal parts anger and fear. “Yours? Because it sure in hell isn’t mine.”

  I don’t see the hit coming, though I should’ve expected it. Doesn’t make it hurt less.

  Pain explodes across my jaw. The force of the blow spins me around. I hit the wall behind me, then drop to one knee, determined not to go all the way down. The clothes in my arms spray across the living room floor, same as the blood from my lip.

  “You ungrateful fucking brat!” My father’s deep voice vibrates the air, detonates the nerves along my spine like tiny cluster bombs destroying my resolve. “I’m the man in this house. You do what I say. I’ll get this lesson through to you, one way or another, Aiden.”

  Throwing his hands into the air, my father stomps down the hall, slams his bedroom door. My mother comes in, not to check on me, but to make sure I know I have to clean up the blood and fast, before it stains.

  Using my dirty shirt to wipe my lip, I grab the cleaning products from under the sink and scrub the part of the couch and floor stained red from the proof of my parents’ love.

  My father’s always been hard on me, but he didn’t start getting violent until I was in high school. My mother, ever the faithful wife, always backs him up instead of talking about the issue.

  I worry something’s wrong with him, in his brain. He’s always been an asshole, but not like this. Then again, I’ve never really stood up for myself before. I still haven’t, not really, and I’m not sure I have the heart, or the balls, to see what that cluster fuck would look like.

  After tossing my clothes in the laundry, and getting some ice for my swollen lip, I text Lily, deciding it’s better not to wait to apologize. Maybe it’ll win me points with my parents. Smooth things over as much as they can be.

  Her text comes back almost immediately.

  Lily: Don’t worry about it, Aiden. I know you’re busy with work. Please don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?